Mustang Wild

“It is,” Tucker said as they reached the cabin. “But there’s a hell of a difference between lousy and plain inedible.”

While Tucker and Chance washed up, Garret set four places at the small table and began serving stew into the bowls.

“Go get your sister,” Chance said as he sat down at the table. Garret set the pot of stew back on the stove then hurried out to fetch Skylar.

With only two rickety old chairs in the cabin, Tucker grabbed an empty crate from the floor and flipped it up on its side, placing it before an open spot at the table. “How’d things go with you and Garret today?” he asked, taking his makeshift seat.

“The kid talks too damn much. But other than that, he’s just like his sister. He doesn’t have any quit in him. You and Sky seemed to do all right.”

Tucker reached toward a box of matches at the center of the table beside the kerosene lantern. Removing the glass globe, he lit the wick, spilling golden light across the darkening room.

“Only because she was too busy with the horses to hiss and spit at me.”

“Then you bes’ keep her busy, because we need her.”

Tucker agreed, but hadn’t expected Chance to come right out and say so. “Glad to hear your approval. As of this morning, she and Garret are on the payroll. Skylar needs a hat. See that you pick one up for her when you get our supplies.”

“Fair enough. I’ll put it in the ledger. I wish they’d hurry up,” he said with a scowl, glancing at the door. “I’m half-starved.”

Tucker’s stomach grumbled as he looked at the bowl of steaming meat and potatoes in front of him. “You and Garret ate something at noon, didn’t you?”

“Apples and dried beef don’t fill a man’s gut.”

Tucker nodded an agreement, having inhaled the same dinner in between saddling horses.

Both glanced up as the door squeaked open.

“Sky won’t be comin’ in for supper.”

“Why not?” Tucker and Chance asked simultaneously.

Garret’s mouth dropped open, his gaze moving between them as he eased into the chair across from Chance.

“You’ll get used to us,” said Tucker. “Is she so put out by me that she doesn’t want to eat in my company?”

Garret shook his head. “It ain’t that. She’s asleep. I tried to wake her, but I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

“She ain’t dead, but she’s sleeping pretty solid. Can we eat?”

“She worked her butt off today,” Chance said, then nodded toward Garret. “Bow your head, kid,” he instructed as he propped his elbows onto the table and folded his hands. “Lord, we thank you for this food we’re about to eat and for seeing us through another day. Amen.” Chance grabbed a spoon and dug into his bowl of stew. Garret followed his cue, taking two heaping bites before Chance managed one.

Tucker muttered an “Amen” then stood. “Skylar should eat. I’ll go see if I can wake her.”

“Be careful,” Garret called after him. “She can be a pistol when she’s tired. She never opened her eyes when I tried to wake her, but she did try to kick me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shutting the door behind him. With darkness quickly claiming the sky, Tucker walked across the shadowed yard. Stepping lightly into the barn, he spotted Skylar in one of the stalls across from their horses. Not certain if he should wake her, he crept quietly up to the gate.

Lying belly-down, she was stretched out on some fresh straw, her jacket balled up under her head, her face hidden beneath the folds of her arms. He wondered why she hadn’t at least laid out her bedroll.

His gaze swept across the length of her slender body. After the way she exerted herself today, she didn’t need to miss a meal.

He started to enter the stall then paused, noting a fine tremble in her shoulders. He heard a sharp gasp of air from beneath her folded arms and felt an instant tension move across his own shoulders.

Ah, hell. She’s not sleeping, she’s—

Skylar shifted onto her side. Tucker took a quick step backward into the shadowed corner of the barn as she sat up.

Sniffling, she shoved her hair away from her face. Tears twinkled like stars as they slid down her cheeks, capturing gleams of light filtered through the cracks of the barn.

He had to get the hell out of here! Two years of witnessing Winifred’s frequent tearful tirades had given Tucker a healthy fear of fitful women.

Skylar drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, releasing a stream of silent tears.

After a few moments of listening to her even, steady breaths, it occurred to Tucker that not all women may be prone to tearful theatrics. Despite her glistening cheeks, Skylar appeared rather peaceful. And vulnerable.

She’s got one hell of a poker face. Looking at her now, she hardly resembled the woman full of confidence and sass who’d spent the day working his horses. His gaze skimmed across long, golden lashes resting against pink skin that had seen too much sun.

Why am I still standing here?

With her eyes closed, he was wasting his chance to escape. He backed up as quickly and quietly as he could, and bumped hard into something solid. The rafters overhead creaked as he turned toward what should have been a clear path to the open door. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out what he’d hit, until a large canvas sack swung back from the shadows and clocked him right between the eyes.

Pain shot across Tucker’s face as the familiar sound of cast iron pounded stars into his eyes.

“Goddamn it!” he shouted, staggering backward. He clamped a hand over his nose as he slammed against the stall behind him.

Tucker blinked several times to clear his vision, his mind still registering the pain. He eased his hand away from his throbbing face. Crimson droplets of blood dripped steadily into his palm. Son of a bitch! Skylar’s skillet had likely broken his nose!

Remembering she was also in the barn, Tucker suppressed a groan and glanced over his shoulder.

Skyar’s wide, glistening eyes stared into his. Sitting on her knees, her lips parted, she looked as stunned as he felt.

Too late to run now. His gaze focused on tears still bright in her eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, swiping her hands across her cheeks as she stood up.

“Just dandy.” He pinched his nose and tipped his head back to slow the flow of blood drizzling down his chin.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to get a nosebleed,” he quipped. And a black eye. The flesh around his left eye was growing tighter by the second.

A light trickle of laughter danced across his senses, distracting him from the pain. Opening his eyes, he was stunned to find Skylar directly in front of him, her blue eyes bright with amusement. She tugged a handkerchief from her pants pocket. “Let me see,” she said in the sultry voice she used with the horses as she reached toward his face.

Tucker reared, keeping his hand clamped over his nose. “I don’t—”

“Stop fussing and put your hand down.”

Feeling like an idiot, biting back a curse, Tucker did as she said. He was instantly rewarded by the soothing glide of gentle fingers against his aching face. Watching the intent look in Skylar’s eyes, he wasn’t sure which made him dizzier, the blow to his head or the tender slide of her fingers across his nose.

“It’s not broken.”

“No thanks to your pack,” he grumbled, while wondering how hands tough and calloused as his own could feel like velvet against his skin. “How many frying pans do you own, anyhow?”

Her light, musical laughter coiled down his spine, tensing his entire body as she examined the left side of his battered face. “I hung our gear from some old nails to keep it out of the way, but you seem to have struck up a courtship with our skillet.”

Her smile was like her voice. Warm, sultry, alluring.

She must be too tired to be hateful, he thought, knowing her red-rimmed eyes were caused by more than tears. His gaze drifted across her face. Her skin looked as soft and pretty as a rosebud. And those lips… Standing so close, he could feel her breath mingling with his.

Tucker pinched his eyes shut. It would be wrong to make a pass at his new horse trainer, the woman he intended to unwed.

A woman who’s after my ranch.

He suddenly wished she had kept her poker face on and hoped she’d be getting it back soon.

Focus on the pain. Not that he could feel anything beyond the fire pooling in his groin as her fingers tentatively probed his rapidly swelling eye.

“Luckily, you have a thick skull,” she said, wiping a fresh trail of blood from his upper lip with her handkerchief. “Here. You may need this for a while longer.”

Tucker opened his eyes and took the bloodstained cloth from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice so thick it barely scraped past his throat.

“No problem. You can keep it.”

“I meant for the doctoring. You’ve got a healing touch that could make a man want to get hurt just to be petted by you.”

Something flashed in her eyes, something close to fear. Her gaze narrowed, and Tucker realized his choice of words must have given her the wrong idea. Not that he was against the idea of having her soothing hands all over him, but he hadn’t meant to announce it.

“You shouldn’t go creeping about in shadows,” she said, her features firming. “A man could get shot that way.”

His gaze dropped to the gun still holstered at her hip.

Fun was over. Thank God. Much more of her coddling and he would have gotten himself shot for sure. “I wasn’t creeping about in the shadows. I came to tell you supper’s on the table.”

She stepped back into the stall and latched the gate behind her. “I’m not hungry.” She grabbed a bedroll and released the ties. “Shut the barn door on your way out,” she said as she tossed the heavy blanket across the bed of fresh straw.

Even as Tucker told himself he should get out while he could, he lingered, knowing she should eat. “Skylar, you need to eat.”

She flopped onto her stomach, fluffed her jacket under her head, then shut him out completely by covering her face in the folds of her arms.

What was he supposed to do now? Just walk away?

Beats standing here like a bleeding idiot, his mind answered. He turned away, careful to miss her pack this time, and left the barn. What did he care if she didn’t eat?

Reaching the house, he was still pinching his bloody nose as he stepped inside. Garret burst into laughter before Tucker shut the door behind him.

“I told you to be careful,” he squealed.

Not feeling up to giving any explanations, Tucker walked past the table and into the bedroom. Silently cursing the muffled laughter following him from the other room, he tossed himself onto the bed.

“Is it broke?” Standing in the doorway, his evil twin flashed a wide grin.

“No,” Tucker answered, annoyed by what it took to put an upward curve in Chance’s lips.

“What were you doing within arm’s reach of her? You know she’s a spitfire. The kid even warned you.”

Tucker gaped at his brother over the top of the rag pressed against his nose. “She’s a woman, for criminy sake!”

“She’s a cowhand. You better realize she’s used to being treated as such. Commenting on that pretty face of hers will only get you into trouble, and treating her like some delicate piece of frippery…well, it seems that sort of foolishness will get you a busted nose.”

“Skylar didn’t give me the bloody nose.”

“Uh-huh. Am I supposed to believe you walked into the barn door?”

“She hung her pack from one of the nails in the rafters. I didn’t see it until the damn thing hit me in the face.”

Chance’s grin returned. “This woman’s damn hard on your health.”

“Go to hell,” Tucker mumbled.

“I’ll be on your heels the whole way, little brother. Is she coming in?”

“No. She’s…sleeping.”

Chance turned and walked back to the table, telling Garret he could have extra stew.

Tucker stared up at the dark ceiling, knowing Chance was right. Despite her pretty face, sultry voice and shapely body that tied him in knots, Skylar was just another cowhand. He’d be doing himself a favor to think of her as such.

Hell. He’d being doing himself a favor not to think about her at all.

Chapter 5

H uddled over the tiny kitchen table with Tucker and Chance as they went over her father’s journal, Skylar continually found her gaze drifting from the sketches of terrain to the sharp lines and intriguing planes of Tucker’s face.

The swollen tissue across the bridge of his nose was hardly noticeable anymore, leaving only a dark streak beneath his left eye; a constant reminder of her humiliating display of weakness. It was bad enough he’d caught her crying; then she had to go begging for more trouble by constantly looking at him. She’d been chastised enough over the last few years by her father to know better.

You go flashin’ smiles to the men and you’re gonna find yourself under some rutting bastard and your belly swollen with child.

Her run-in with Randal had proved his point.

Randal had been full of crocodile smiles and smoldering stares. She hadn’t thought she’d behaved in a promiscuous fashion toward Randal, but she hadn’t blatantly discouraged his attention, either. During the few minutes he’d wrestled her to the ground, she hadn’t liked his hard kisses or groping hands one single bit. She shuddered at the recollection as self-contempt churned at her insides.

She couldn’t allow any such confusion between herself and Tucker. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked at her in such a way since the night before last or mentioned the incident. For some reason, Garret and Chance seemed to think she’d been the one who’d bruised up his handsome face. They had harassed him all of yesterday, none of which seemed to bother Tucker. He made light of the incident, flinching dramatically whenever she was within three feet of him. But then, Tucker seemed to make light of life in general. She’d never known anyone who was so quick to smile.

She needed to get out of here. She found it impossible not to stare at him when they were in the same room, intrigued by his similarities to Chance, as well as their differences, which was why she tried to avoid being in the small cabin at all.

“Have you found a problem with my suggestion?” she asked.

Tucker turned the page and pored over the next two maps with the same intensity he had the others. “Not exactly.”

“This is some journal,” said Chance.

The slight upward tilt of Chance’s lips caught Skylar’s attention. Chance’s personality was such a contrast to Tucker’s. If they had any physical differences, she hadn’t been able to pinpoint them. It amazed her that two men could be physically identical, yet so very different at the same time.

“What are we waitin’ on?” Garret called as he barreled in through the open door. “The gear’s all packed. Hey, that’s my pa’s journal.” He stepped beside Tucker and dropped his elbows onto the table as he leaned toward the center.

“Kid, your head makes a better door than a window,” Chance said in a dull tone.

Garret eased back and Tucker gave him a firm shove, knocking Garret off balance. Garret quickly found his footing and retaliated by slamming his body against Tucker, nearly knocking him off the crate.

Tucker laughed as he straightened and looked back at the journal.

Another difference, thought Skylar. Tucker was particularly kind to Garret, and playful. He didn’t show the impatience she saw in Chance’s expression when Garret hounded them with questions or rattled on the way Garret was prone to do. Tucker was—

Blast!

Realizing she was staring at him again, she shifted her gaze toward the open doorway. “We’re burning daylight,” she said with impatience. “Are we settled on heading northeast or not? We can bicker about specific passes on the way.”

“You’re sure these drawings are accurate?” asked Tucker. “I’ve spent a good deal of time picking my way across Colorado territory, yet this map is littered with passes I’ve never seen or heard of.”

“My grandfather was a surveyor by trade and my father did some scouting for the military before he married my mother.”

Tucker’s sharp green eyes flickered up, making brief contact with Skylar’s before he glanced back down at the journal.

Skylar felt as though she’d been physically touched. Something in the way the man looked at her sent a charge through her body that affected her mind. Like a steer on loco weed. She hadn’t forgotten how intoxicating those green eyes could be, or how incredibly soft and gentle his lips had felt against hers. As hard as she tried over the past two days, she couldn’t get the recollection out of her mind.

“Sky?”

“Yeah?” Skylar blinked, and simultaneously realized Tucker was staring at her and Chance had been talking to her. She dropped her gaze away from Tucker. “Yeah, that’s the pass,” she said, noticing Chance’s finger on the narrow channel through the San Juan Mountains, hoping that was what he’d been commenting on while her mind had been off chasing rainbows.

Dear God, how long had Tucker been watching her stare at his lips? “If we take that pass, I estimate we could cut a good four days of travel,” she said, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks.

“I’m willing to give it a shot,” Tucker replied. “What do you say, Chance?”

Chance muttered an agreement. Skylar closed her journal and glanced up. Tucker’s eyes lingered on hers long enough to cause a series of flutters in her stomach, which spiraled up through her body and straight to her head when he flashed those pearly white teeth of his.

In a burst of motion, Skylar grabbed her journal and straightened away from the table. “Let’s get to Wyoming.” She started for the door, silently cursing the tingling surge she felt clear to the soles of her feet. Did he realize how incredibly charming he was?

Skylar groaned inwardly, disgusted by her thoughts. “Lord, I must be touched in the head.”

He’s not charming. He’s arrogant, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The man was a flirt, plain and simple. He was the sort who flirted with anything female. She’d make it known she didn’t care to be a part of any such behavior.

She stopped beside the spotted mare tethered outside the corral. The mustang snorted and flattened her ears. “That’s the idea,” she said, smiling at the hostile signals coming from the ornery mare. She’d keep it clear that she wasn’t interested in Tucker’s fallen-angel smiles.

“You’re going to ride that paint?”

Skylar jumped at the sound of Tucker’s rich voice then spun to face him. Damn the man! She shouldn’t be feeling the strange sensations that swirled inside her whenever she caught his gaze. “Do you have a problem with my riding this mare?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, raising his hands and backing away from her as though she’d drawn her gun on him. “You go ahead and lead the way.”

Listening to his low laugh as he walked toward his horse, Skylar wondered what she was so worried about.

In the past three days they’d covered far more desert ground than Tucker could have imagined possible. Finished roping off the mares, Tucker followed Chance toward their saddled horses staked near one the few patches of sand not littered with cacti and scrub. In the distance, white dunes rose up against an opaque sky, making it impossible to tell where earth ended and sky began.

“Who’s taking care of supper tonight?” Chance asked as they began removing their saddles. “You or me?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Tucker said, figuring Chance could use the break after handling the chore for the past two nights. Skylar had made it clear that her job pertained strictly to the horses.

“Garret, wait!”

Tucker’s gaze whipped around at the sharp sound of Skylar’s voice. She ran toward the packhorses. Fifteen yards away, Garret stood beside a mule, releasing the ropes over a sack of supplies that more than doubled his weight. Skylar reached over the boy’s head, grabbing a heavy pack before it took the kid to the ground. Together they eased the large canvas sack down.

Garret flashed a sheepish grin as his sister gave him a light scolding. The kid’s smile brightened as she reached out and ruffled his white hair, saying something Tucker couldn’t make out. Garret gave a sharp nod before running off to do whatever she’d asked of him.

Tucker grinned and turned back to his horse. He’d never seen a kid idolize his sister the way Garret did. But then, he’d never known a woman like Skylar. A born taskmaster, she didn’t have a speck of trouble maintaining his herd and distributing orders, all while riding circles around them and keeping a constant eye on Garret.

Two nights back she’d surprised Tucker again by relieving him of his night watch just after midnight. He and Chance had been splitting the late-night and early-morning shifts, but Skylar didn’t cut herself any slack.

“I’ll get a fire started,” Chance said as he walked away with his saddle slung over his shoulder.

As Tucker finished with his horse, Skylar approached the saddled Arabian staked beside him. She drew a long breath as she stroked her hand across the horse’s black mane.

Tucker figured three days of grueling riding and little sleep had to be catching up with her. As her hand drifted away from the stallion, her horse stepped back and nudged her arm with its muzzle, clearly wanting more of her touch.

“Spoiled rotten,” she murmured, and stretched her arms around his big head, giving him a petting embrace she seemed to enjoy as much as the stallion. Her gentle smile didn’t hide the exhaustion Tucker could see in her eyes.

The horse gave a snort of protest when she withdrew her caressing hands and stepped toward her saddle. “Chores first, you big hound,” she said, tugging at the cinch.

“Can I give you a hand?” Tucker asked, moving beside her.

The second she met his gaze, her soft expression soured right up. “No. Why would I need help removing my saddle?”

“I just thought—” Tucker snapped his mouth shut, realizing he’d thought wrong. “Never mind.”

Just another cowhand, he silently repeated. Normally, he wasn’t so slow.

She turned her back to him. “Garret and I can handle the horses. You should probably get started on camp.”

“Right.” After three days of the same routine, he was beginning to catch on. He’d clearly blown any chance they’d had at being friendly that night in the barn. If she wasn’t giving him orders, he was all but invisible.

Too bad she wasn’t.

By sundown, Chance had set up camp and Tucker had charred a couple of batches of biscuits and scorched a few jackrabbits. He certainly hadn’t done anyone any favors by volunteering to cook.

Serving what was left of the food onto two plates, he covered the second with a tin and left it by the fire for Skylar. He took his plate and sat beside Chance. Garret sat on the other side of the fire, reclined against an embankment of sand, his face fixed with a frown as he tapped his fork against a piece of overcooked rabbit.

“It’s meat, kid,” said Chance.

“You sure?”

“Fairly,” Chance answered, in the midst of some extensive chewing.

Garret took a bite and grimaced.

Tucker didn’t see how the kid could complain when their ramrod couldn’t do any better. Hearing the sound of Skylar’s approaching footsteps, he glanced through the darkness. Despite his efforts not to, Tucker watched as she walked into the warm firelight, not paying them any notice as she tossed her hat and gloves onto her pack and began removing her chaps.

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